As he looked down at the talismans collected on the laboratory workbench, Gulgalogos felt familiar pangs of apprehension. How simple a matter it would be to sabotage Ari’s work, the tiresome, prideful elf, making the group more vulnerable to Sorrowsong’s blight rather than protect against it. How Loviattar would come to appreciate violence then as she watched the flesh of her dearest friends melt from their bones.
Now that they had located the rebel apothecary, he could even take it a step further by making her aware of the group’s progress in counteracting the blight’s effects, thereby affording Sorrowsong the opportunity to perfect the virulence of her formula. Then would Lyastei see that her eyes were not the only thing about her that was blind.
Something deep within offered a delighted laugh at these dark thoughts even as the greater part of him recoiled in horror. These were not feelings worthy of the grace bestowed upon him either by Esha nor by his current companions. And now, Anzl sought to entrust the life of her dearest friend to Gulgalogos’s ministrations. If only she heard the voices goading him to betrayal.
The right thing to do was to set these thoughts aside, accepting them as the consequence of a life of darkness and violence, and push himself forward to fulfill his promises to aid in the blight’s destruction. But he did not feel strong enough. One way or another, he would find a way to betray them. So he chose to do so on his own terms. Without a word, he departed the Suramar laboratory and journeyed back to Darkshore.
…
Looking out across the ocean waters at the lifeless silhouette of the once brilliant Kaldorei home, as he had on so many nights before, he offered no prayers, only silent regret. They had all shown him such welcome, such kindness, such understanding…such compassion. Even Loviattar, as much as she loathed him, truly seemed have taken something meaningful away from their time together, just as he had. The Priestess, perhaps the strongest and most perceptive of them all, having had the faith and courage to trust him, knowing at least some of who he was and what he had done, deserved better than his present act of cowardice. Raisse, Iya, Corvin…all of them deserved better.
With a heavy, unburdening sigh, Gulgalogos shifted form and took flight across the dark waters toward the charred base of the Great Tree. As he soared, the sense of regret dissolved into relief. Ari was gifted, competent and had all of the information that he needed to do what Gulgalogos had failed to. Anzl was wise to admire him. He would no doubt aid her friend far better than he ever could. For Anzl’s part, she shared Gulgalogos’s commitment to non-violence and would be a capable advocate for creative solutions amidst conflict. The group didn’t need him and would be safer without him, he reasoned to himself, even if he knew that this was a copout, a convenient rationalization to cover over another failure of character.
Arriving on the ash covered shore, he felt comforted by the cool, gentle breeze, the sound of the soft waves and, most of all, the complete solitude. He began to dig into the scorched earth with feline claws until a shallow pit had been formed at the base of the torched Tree. Once satisfied that the hole would hold him, Gulgalogos returned to his undead form and lay down in the makeshift grave. He covered himself over with the closely piled sand, dirt and ash until completely interred. Here he would rest, perhaps forever, beneath the shadow of the Undead Tree, until its chthonic depths exorcized him of these ghosts that he could not seem to escape. I’m sorry…